


Private Evenings

by WendyNerd



Series: Private Evenings [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Tension, Unbeta'd, awkward Jon and Sansa, betrothed Jon and Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One evening, Sansa asks to sit on Jon's lap. She has more questions for him the next night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Evenings

“It was Arbor Gold you asked for, was it?” Jon asked for, sounding uncertain as he carried the tray over, kicking the door closed behind him. 

Sansa smiled as he came over, setting the drink set down on the side table between to the two overstuffed chairs they had by the fire. “It was, My Lord, thank you.”

“Of course,” he looked relieved, as if he’d bet money on getting the right drink. Upon sitting down in the chair beside her, he began pouring them both cups. Sansa put her sewing hoop aside as he handed her a pewter goblet of the golden liquid. When he’d taken his, she raised her cup in a toast. “To many happy evenings with good wine and a roaring fire.”

Though she didn’t drink much, Sansa was happy for it. This would be easier if she had something to loosen her tongue. For a while, she studied her betrothed as he sat back, watching the fire and taking the occasional sip. She knew he was always careful in her presence, though he was no stranger to drink. Once in a while, he joined some of the men for a night in one of the smaller halls or the Wintertown alehouse. She’d seen him some mornings after, cupping his brow from pain when he thought no one was looking.

Those nights grew rarer as the weeks past, though. As that date grew nearer. And he spent more and more evenings here, with her. Originally he had visited her in the evenings to confer over some matter pertaining to the running of Winterfell, and those evenings often found them talking long after any business matters were settled. Then he began visiting without a ledger on his arm, sometimes carrying his blade and whetstone to occupy his hands while she sewed, sometimes not. It got to the point where they had visits even without speaking much, though they were capable of carrying on conversations through the night if they wished.

It made her happy, comfortable. These cozy evenings in what used to be her mother’s solar. She usually wasn’t too happy to be alone with any one person, let alone a man. However, she’d taken to her solitary time with Jon so quickly. It was as if she’d been waiting for him. Many nights, she found herself doing just that, actively waiting for him to arrive. It reassured her about her decision. Surely it was a good sign for a marriage if they so enjoyed quiet evenings together.

Still, despite how rarely those nights when he joined the men in town had become, Sansa couldn’t help but think on them. She may not have visited many, but she wasn’t entirely ignorant of what such establishments were like. Many doubled as brothels. They were filled with bawdy music and laughing women, their bodices cut low, ready to pour another pint and sit in their patrons’ laps.

While it was a little harder than it might have been with other men, Sansa could picture Jon in such a way. He had a gang of male friends whom he’d been with since the Wall, and while he’d never been Theon Greyjoy, she knew he was no stranger to drink or women. She could picture him at a table, between Grenn and Pyp and Dolorous Edd, a pint before him.

Jon wasn’t exactly without his charms, as she had been discovering more and more as the weeks went by. His eyes were big, dark, and earnest. His mouth was generous and, as she’d delightfully discovered the first night she dared kiss him, as soft as they looked. He had a full but neatly trimmed, close-cut beard, and his dark brown hair was thick and shining. As a boy, he’d been a bit skinny, long-faced and sullen. His form was still lean, but well-muscled, and his maturation had brought him a dark, dramatic look.

Her betrothed was handsome. Not a golden prince like Jaime Lannister, but handsome in a strong, deep, Northern way. And better, he was kind and gentle, something which radiated off of him as much as his strength did.

And he was a hero. And a prince. So surely women flocked to him.

If he purchased more than drink from them, Sansa did not want to know. But she did imagine that short of seeking intimate services, he might behave as so many men did. Perhaps he might take some bonny barmaid in his lap, let her laugh with him, peer at her bosom, explain Edd’s odd, morbid jokes to her. Even if he might not patronize whores, men liked companionship. And after so many years at The Wall, she couldn’t begrudge some flirting.

Still, she thought on it. Marriages involved more than quiet nights in front of the fire, talking, and business. It involved more than sweet little babes with her eyes and his hair learning to walk and begging to be carried.

The path to those little people intimidated her. She’d been confronted with such things frequently before she’d had them properly explained to her. Many of those confrontations even happened without her realizing it, but that actually made things worse. There’d been Petyr, there’d been Joffrey, there’d been Tyrion, Sandor, and Marillion. There’d been Harry. There’d been so many pawing hands.

Not that the prospect of being touched in such a way at all was unthinkable. At least not anymore. Recently, after observing one particular set of hands, Sansa found herself remembering times when she’d imagine running her hands down Loras Tyrell’s flat stomach. Except it wasn’t Ser Loras’s flat stomach she thought of anymore.

The problem was, Sansa didn’t know what do with these feelings. And she still had no idea what to expect when the time came. The mechanics of it were not unknown. But how it might be handled properly was. Jon was gentle and kind, but how would that apply to his behavior when the time came? And what about what he liked? What about what she might like? What if there was something she didn’t know about that everyone else did, and her ignorance brought everything to ruin?

Another problem was, she was a lady. And after all the work she’d done to protect and preserve her maidenhead, she wasn’t ready to sully her virtue with unladylike curiosity. Did Jon want her to come to him completely unaware? Completely pure? Or would he think her a fool? What if she ended up ruining his image of her, whether it be in regards to her purity, or her intelligence?

She didn’t want him to think her too eager, too forward, or, gods forbid, licentious in some way. She didn’t want to offend him. But she also wanted… She wanted to try things, learn things, feel things before the marriage bed required her to give herself entirely.

So questions unasked had burned inside her for a while (along with other things). It was only that day that Sansa considered that she ought to try to initiate some intimacy beyond a quick kiss to his lips, brief embraces, and hand-holding. Her wedding night ought to be one without fear. It was the least she deserved.

Despite the misgivings that held her as she watched him sip his Arbor Gold, she also felt more eager than she ever had. His face was thoughtful, and his legs were parted slightly, muscular thighs showing through his dark wool breeches. He clearly felt comfortable with her. She wanted to feel that, wholly.

Her mind went to those tavern girls, who likely would sit in his lap without a second thought. And they’d likely known unwanted pawing. Perhaps their seat with Jon was more agreeable than most. That seemed likely. Sansa wanted Jon to hold her, laugh with her, want her. She didn’t want all those unwanted hands she’d known before to hold her back from enjoying him, feeling him, knowing him. 

She hesitated, summoning up her courage. “Jon?”

“Yes?” His response was immediate, but not startled. It was as if he were anticipating her voice.

“May I---“ She reddened, but carried on, “May I sit in your lap?”

His eyes widened, and he seemed to hesitate. “If… If it pleases you, My Lady. But… Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I’d like to try.” The request had flown from her lips before she’d even considered that. Even when she’d decided to speak to him, she’d not imagined spending the evening atop his thigh. But for whatever reason, she felt that was exactly what needed to happen. Perhaps if she could find comfort on his knee, with his hands at her waist, then her fear of speaking to him about their future exploits in the bedchamber would come easy. Already she found a little relief in his response to this request. While surprise clearly gripped him, it wasn’t disapproving or judgmental. Or didn’t appear so.

Indeed, when she rose and moved to perch herself upon his right knee, sitting with as much primness as she could muster, he met her eyes and matched her shy smile, which was glorious in the golden firelight. Her seat was firm, but not by any means uninviting. His body heat proved oddly thrilling. He leaned back a bit, as though afraid to touch her, and suddenly seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands.

 _I’m nervous too,_ she attempted to say with a look. To emphasize the point, she smoothed her woolen skirts, as though she were sitting down in the Great Hall for dinner.

A small laugh escaped him. “Ever the lady, aren’t you?”

She blushed. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Would you like to?” He asked her.

“Like to what?”

“Be anything else. Not a lady.”

Sansa froze. _As in what, a slattern? Does he think I’m doing this as an attempt to be lustful?_ It was stupid, so stupid. Of course this would happen. What was he supposed to think? Clearly she’d sent a message, told him she wanted more. Of course he was expecting that now, after this. She’d literally just emulated a tavern wench. She stood at once, crossing her arms about her waist.

“I… Pardon me, My Lord. I did not mean to… That wasn’t my intention.” 

“What wasn’t your intention?” His tone and face were bemused. She didn’t blame him.

“I mean… I am not usually so forward, nor do I intend to make a habit of it. I was just--- I hope your opinion of me hasn’t altered.”

“Sansa, I was merely making conversation. I don’t know what you thought I meant, but I was simply asking in general. You were raised to be a lady, I merely wondered if you ever dreamed of anything else, like Arya. Did you ever want to fight? Be a Septa? A maester?”

The whole room suddenly seemed much warmer, and her muscles relaxed. “Oh. Oh, I see. I thought you meant…”

“What?”

“I thought you were asking if I wanted to be….” She settled for a word. “Unchaste.”

His face reddened. “I would not suggest such a thing, My Lady. If I offended you, I am sorry.”

Sansa sighed. “No, I am. I was being silly. May I, um---“

He snorted a little with laughter, smile dancing back across his face, and held out his hands. “Come here.”

She took his hand and did not let go once she’d retaken her seat. Looking at his strong, tapered hand, feeling the calluses and weaving her fingers with his, she spoke, “I never wanted to be anything but a lady. A lady, or princess, or queen. I wanted a good, gallant, lordly husband to love me, and I wanted to have children with him and keep his home and spend my life meeting fine people, keeping a fine castle, and being like my Lady Mother. I wanted to see banquets and castles and gardens and tourneys and knights and lords and ladies and have fine strong sons and pretty, gentle daughters. It was all I ever wanted. And that hasn’t changed very much. Now I want to be wise and strong and wise and protect my family and home and lands as well. And I don’t want to just belong to someone else, or just be a smiling, proper little woman who submits to whatever decisions some man makes for her.”

She stopped herself then, reddened, and looked at him. “That is, I---“

“I don’t think you should,” Jon told her, closing his hand around hers a squeezing it, “You shouldn’t. You do quite well enough ruling yourself, you’ve made better decisions for yourself and others than many men I’ve met.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “What about when we’re wed. The vows call for obedience.”

“The vows also claim we will be one flesh. Even that sounds more rational.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “I did not come back to Winterfell to control you, Sansa.”

She smiled, heartily relieved. _I just hope that opinion remains unchanged._ She tried to reassure herself that it would and distract herself from melancholy thoughts. “My desires have expanded, perhaps,” she said, getting back to the topic at hand, “But not completely changed. I have never desired to hold a blade, wear a chain, or wed the Seven. I am happy with what I am.”

“That explains your strength.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed. No one had ever described her that way before. “And you?” She asked, a little breathless, “Did you ever want---?”

“I wanted to be Daeron the Young Dragon, or Aemon the Dragonknight, or some honorable ranger of the Night’s Watch. I wanted to be a great Lord of Winterfell. I wanted to kill monsters and be a hero.” His expression clouded over. “I got a lot of what I wanted, it just turned out to be very different than I ever expected.”

Sansa cupped his cheek, her heart breaking for him. She knew what he meant. She may not have ever wielded a sword or commanded an army, but this was something she knew. “Life is not a song, we all learn that to our sorrow.” She said, sadly.

He seemed shocked by her gesture. He looked at her in wonder. Then he shut his eyes tight, as if holding back tears.

Sansa found herself reaching out and sinking into him all at once, leaning against his shoulder and pulling him to her breast. He buried his face in her. And she felt the sobs before she heard them. Her fingers threaded through his hair. He held her like someone was trying to steal her away. And she found her own grip was the same.

Tears came from her as well. Tears of sorrow, tears of rage. She wanted to tear out the eyes of every person who’d ever hurt him. She wanted to hold him, keep him safe forever. She wanted to wash away those memories. She wanted to go back in time and melt away the snow, the winter, the Others. To destroy the brothers who’d betrayed him.

She wanted to force the songs to be true.

There was one thing from a song, though, that was true. Something she’d heard dozens of those maidens she’d idolized say to their men. Something that was true. Something she’d not sung yet. “I love you,” she whispered, stroking his hair. She repeated this over and over, as his sobs began to lessen, as he shook less, as he began to relax. “You’re here with me now,” she whispered as he began to calm, “You’re safe. They’re never, ever coming back. You don’t have to be a hero anymore.”

After a while, they, and the room around them seemed to still. Jon pulled away, wiping his face, expression hardening. “My apologies, My Lady. That was an inappropriate display. Unmanly. You deserve---“

She seized his face again and looked him in the eye. “You don’t have to be a hero anymore. You can cry with me.”

He seemed to wilt a little. “Thank you.” He took one of her hands and kissed her palm. “I love you.” 

She released him and stroked his cheek again. Somehow, touching him, which had seemed so scary before, seemed like nothing. It just seemed right. She took a deep breath. “I am glad we can share these things. I think… I want us to share everything. When you must weep, do it with me.”

He smiled somewhat. “As my lady wishes. As long as she returns the courtesy.”

Sansa realized then that perhaps she was not the only one who had desired to share something that evening. _He wanted to unburden himself too. Was he as afraid as I was?_ It felt good to think so.

“You can tell me whatever you wish. I won’t judge you, Jon.”

“I believe that. I just wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“There are hundreds of people troubling me at every moment. You’re the only person whose trouble I welcome. Please. How am I to share things with you if you will not share things with me? You want me to share things with you, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I will do as my lord wishes. As long as he returns the courtesy.”

His lip curled. “Now who is teasing? That being said, I am not as good with words as you are, my lady. I express more through action.”

“As long as you’re expressing.”

He pulled her to him, leaning back in his chair. She curled up around him, content and warm. They stared at the fire, expressing what they could through stroking one another’s hair, holding one another, and the occasional quick kiss.

Before she knew it, she was being shaken. Suddenly things were bright, sunlight poured in from the windows. Jon was saying her name.

“We fell asleep. I’m sorry, I should have---“

She groaned a bit, yawned, and the two of them got to their feet. Sansa began to register the situation. “Oh gods,” she said, covering her mouth. She pulled away and looked at Jon awkwardly. “You must… Before anyone comes in and finds you.”

He nodded quickly and made for the door. Before he disappeared, though, Sansa called out to him. “Jon?” She said.

“Yes?" 

“I still want you to visit me this evening. I have something I need to discuss with you. Some questions.”

“About?”

She swallowed, then laughed at her nervousness. A strange boldness seized her. “About our marital bed and the activities involved. Love-making.”

He looked ready to faint at that. Sansa laughed at him. “Go now, My Love! Before the servants see you!”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The sky was still an array of orange and pink, the sun just starting to set, when Jon arrived the next evening, an even bigger pitcher of Arbor Gold in hand. Sansa could not help but notice that despite his early arrival, he’d clearly prepared. His hair was combed and pulled back. He smelled freshly of soap. And he seemed every bit as nervous as she’d been the evening before.

So instead of waiting in her seat, she walked to him and led him over. She even poured their cups. It was only after a considerable drag that Jon seemed ready to speak. 

“I did not misunderstand you this morning. You wish to discuss--- lovemaking?”

“I’ve never done it. You have. And as an initiate, I am nervous about what is coming. I was hoping you might… explain some things. And that we might do some… Planning.”

Jon took another long drink, refilled his cup, and sat back in his chair, eyes closed. “Sansa… It’s not quite so--- easy, as that. I mean, what do you even want to know?”

She hesitated. She knew this wasn’t easy. It was difficult for her, too. She took a deep breath. “What… What is expected of me?”

His eyes popped open. “You do know… what is done, yes? The… act itself?”

She nodded, blushing. “Yes. You take your--- man’s staff--- and you place it between my legs and insert it into my female parts and move in and out until you’ve spilled your seed. That is correct, right?”

“Well, yes… It’s right, technically, though there is generally more to it--- at least when it is done right.” 

“What do you mean? Like, if you kiss me?”

He seized upon this. “Yes. Kissing and… other gestures of affection. Contact.”

Sansa swallowed. “Right,” she took a deep breath. Suddenly, the room seemed very, very warm. She felt like a fool. Clearly, there were all sorts of things she was completely ignorant of. She knew so little that her betrothed likely had no idea where to start. Not to mention he was probably even more embarrassed than she was at this point, though that didn’t seem possible. _I’m destroying any mystique. I’ve made this unpleasant._ She loathed herself then. Minutes ago, she’d felt so ready, especially after their breakthrough last night. Sansa cursed herself.

She recalled the things she’d learned before about seduction. _Men are visual. Visualize it, and he may rediscover some appeal._ She took a deep breath. “Yes… Contact. How much? Would you want me completely naked? And if so, would you want me to undress myself, or do it yourself?”

She could hear his every breath now, and his eyes were closed again. “Sansa… Gods. I don’t know.” He opened his eyes. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know! I suppose… If you were naked, I would not mind it. I would not want a bedding ceremony. I want privacy. But I suppose it would be easier if I undressed myself. I’m not sure how familiar you are with the fastenings on ladies’ clothing, but it can get rather complicated. I would not want you growing discouraged.”

“If I grew too frustrated, I’d probably just rip them off.”

Sansa winced at that, something he noticed. Jon held up his hands. “But I won’t! I wouldn’t! I’d be gentle, My Lady!”

She nodded. “It’s just… I have spent quite a bit of time on my gown. Lots of sewing. It’s very lovely.” Still, the reassurance of gentleness was comforting. But she didn’t want him to think she’d think him brutish. 

“You and your gown are safe!” 

She made herself smile, hoping to be encouraging. It worked. “I’m glad. And after that?”

“Well, I suppose I’d kiss you and touch you, get you… erm, ready…”

“Ready?”

“Yes, all flushed and warm and erm…” He looked at his lap. “Seven Hells. It’s like… when I… when a man gets… stiff… so he can do the deed… A lady gets… you’ll get… your body will get ready for me, as well.”

“How will you do that?” She asked. She’d been flushed and warm before, thinking about him, about Loras, about The Hound. She’d even found herself damp between the legs. 

“By touching and kissing you.”

Sansa found herself blushing. “And then I’ll lie down and you’ll get on top of me and… should I spread my legs for you then?”

He cleared his throat. “It would help.”

“And then you’d… do the deed, yes?”

“Yes, if that’s how you wish to do it, yes.”

She laughed a little at this, feeling a bit mad. “Well, how else? How are you supposed to do it if you’re not above me, if I’m not lying down?”

Jon leaned forward, cupping his temple and crossing his legs. “Gods, Sansa…”

And that’s when it hit her. “Oh… Jon, I’m sorry! I hadn’t realized… I thought you’d done this before!”

It was as if he’d been struck by lightning. “I have!” He said sharply.

Sansa covered her mouth, feeling like a fool. “Then why…?” 

He took a deep breath. “There’s a difference between doing it and speaking of it. I told you, I’m not as… talkative. Especially about this. Especially to you.”

“Me?” _I’m to be his wife._

“Yes, you! Lady Sansa Stark, the most perfect, proper, sweet, darling creature in this world. Who has spent her life fending off brutes and their unworthy hands. Who deserves so much more than I could ever give, or be. Who has never done this before. And I’ve… I’ve never been asked to teach anyone. And if I ruin this for you, I’d never forgive myself. I should be perfect for you, and I’m not sure I can be. It could end up hurting, or you might hate it, or be disgusted by my mouth, or my cock…”

“I don’t know about your…” She let the word hang. “But I know your mouth. It’s delightful. You’ve kissed me.”

“I’ve kissed your _lips,_ yes. And hand and forehead and cheek, and your neck, once. But the second I see your cunny I know I’ll---“ He was now the color of Dornish Red, and speechless.

“---You’ll what?” Sansa asked, finding herself a bit flushed as well. And lightheaded. And absolutely desperate to hear the end of that sentence.

“---I’ll… I’ll be diving between your legs and trying to drink every drop from you.” 

Now it was her turn to fall back in her chair. She pictured it, Jon’s shaggy head between her legs, dark eyes looking up at her, his tongue moving about her parts. She felt faint. There was a long, long silence. Finally, she managed to squeak. “But… what about your seed?”

Jon sounded a bit tired. “I’d take you after you’d peaked at least once. Gods, why do I feel like I’m a greenboy again?”

“Why do I feel like a cat in heat?” Sansa replied without thinking.

They looked at each other. And then burst out laughing. 

“Gods… We’re so… ridiculous!” Sansa cried out, shaking her head.

“Yes.” Jon took a deep breath. “Sansa… how much do you really wish to know?”

“I don’t know.” They laughed again. “Just.. I’ll keep asking questions, and if you go too far, I’ll stop you.” 

Her betrothed took a deep breath. “Very well. That sounds… prudent.”

She smiled at him dreamily. There was some silence for a while. Then she spoke. “ _Is_ there another way of making love without me lying under you?” 

Jon groaned. “Forgive me, My Lady, but I cannot pretend that such ideas don’t have… an effect… on me.” He took a deep breath. “Yes. Many. For instance, I could be lying under _you—_ “

“How?”

He grinned. “I’d lie on my back, and, well, you’ve ridden astride, yes?”

Sansa gaped. “So I’d… Impale myself on you?”

It was his term to flinch. “A harsh way of putting it, but I suppose. It’s.. It’s actually quite nice. Other… other ladies have enjoyed it.”

Imagining it actually made her feel a bit giddy. “I can see that. And you would enjoy it?”

“Let me make something clear, my lady: anything that involves the two of us naked with one another is something I would enjoy very, very much. And yes, this especially.”

The sun was nearly set by this point, yet Sansa felt more energized than ever. “Then we must do it. You will help me?”

Jon nodded, slowly.

“What else? You said there are lots of ways.”

“I could make love to you standing. Or we could lay on our sides and I’d take you from behind. You could go on all fours and I’d kneel behind you. I could sit up and have you in my lap. You might perched yourself at the end of the bed and I’d take you standing….” He sounded like he was reciting from a list he’d been meticulously keeping for ages. The thought of that, of him thinking and listing all the ways they might couple, gave her an intense thrill.

“I didn’t realize…” She was desperately reaching for her cup and refilling it. “Jon, I think--- I think we’ve--- I feel a little overwhelmed.”

He looked crestfallen at this. “I’ve offended you.”

“No!” She practically shouted this. “That is--- Quite the opposite. But I am rather… I intend to go to marriage bed a maid---“

“---It does not matter to me---“

She held up a hand. “My marriage to Tyrion Lannister was dissolved based on lack of consummation. If necessary, I’d like to have a bloody sheet ready in case---

“---If anyone demands to see your sheet or questions your honor, I’ll tear them limb from limb.” He practically growled as he said this.

“Calm yourself, My Love.” Sansa said, trying to hide her smile. “I’d just… I don’t want to take any risks.”

He nodded, disappointed. “I didn’t mean to pressure---“

She reached out and covered his fist with her hand. Somehow, the first physical contact they’d had all evening. It certainly didn’t feel like it.

“I know. I think we’re both a little… inflamed at the moment. Perhaps we should part.”

Jon frowned. “You know… that thing with my mouth… It wouldn’t breach your maidenhead.”

Their eyes met. Sansa swallowed.


End file.
